Comes and Goes, In Waves
by Xyliette
Summary: A series of drabbles featuring various pairings and prompts. Please see individual chapters for more information.
1. Comes and Goes, In Waves

A/N: This is a place for the drabbles I conjure up as part of the fun, new community I joined. Fell free to leave ideas, requests, and criticism as you see fit. Enjoy-

Sam/Addison

**~-~-~-~-~-~-~  
Comes and Goes (In Waves)  
- Greg Laswell  
~-~-~-~-~-~-~**

There's an immense amount of sticky silence that follows her desperate declaration, a lot of staring at empty space, stomachs churning with the implications that would have come- should have come.

Sam watches Addison bite down on her lip, stifling a sob, fingernails digging into the smooth skin he should be caressing. It's the wrong place, the wrong time, the wrong life.

Naomi had an emotional breakdown and screamed that he would be a father soon in front of many of their classmates and friends, but Addison- Addison choose to ambush him in his office, propped against his desk. There are no hollers and congratulations to hide behind here, nothing to hide his fear.

He peels a discolored piece of flesh from his palm, buying time. And when he's ready, he gathers her in his arms, prying her away from his lonely plant, and whispers with more relief than warranted, "They'll never know."

It's the only peace he can afford.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~**_  
_**


	2. Static Waves

Sam/Addison - Office Furniture

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~  
Static Waves  
- Andrew Belle featuring Katie Herzig  
~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Addison can feel the blush creeping up her neck to her cheeks, she can sense the way Sam has been watching her intently all night, including the part where she spilled red wine all over his silver tie, dashing a large puddle onto the wood flooring of the practice's conference room.

And it's coming, they both know, the part where the time to have fun switches gears into something drastically more serious. The area where fights aren't won or discarded, but merely resigned and compromised. The place where she can wreck them, leaving doused flames to dance in what was once such a perfect solution.

Amelia, as undesirable as an advice holder can be, had made vital points that Addison refused to acknowledge until now. Because the candles on her birthday cake tonight should have covered the entirely too sweet surface, because she's only losing minutes, seconds, hours to have the one thing she really desires.

And as Sam's fingers creep daringly into the silk fabric hanging loosely off her shoulders she can feel it bubbling up, tragically ending the best celebration she's had in forty some odd years. She leans against the long table where meetings are scheduled, patients are discussed, where lives are essentially altered and feels her chest seize.

"I love you," Sam says softly against her neck, pulling her closer, teeth biting down on the gentle flesh between her collarbone and shoulder, not pausing for a second to see if one of their coworkers had the same plan to return after Addison's dinner.

"I want a baby," Addison whimpers back.

He promises he just needs a minute to think over things out in the lobby, but forty minutes later he's disappeared and Addison is left with an unfinished bottle of bitter alcohol, her stinging truth, and the gnawing ache of recognizing self-destruction.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**


	3. So Long, Lonesome

Sam/Addison - "the unexpected"

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~  
So Long, Lonesome  
- Explosions in the Sky  
~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Addison takes a deep whiff of the dark curls that are covering her nose, savoring the sweet scent of shampoo and something indescribably homey. She can feel her chest swell with the anticipation of everything mounting day in and day out. It's insanity, the way things seem stagnant and yet at the same time are buzzing around her in quick streams of change- tiny fingers exploring their boundaries, trusting eyes mindfully watching, chubby legs finding more of a noticeable rhythm each morning.

For once, she feels like enough. Funny enough, worthy enough, soothing enough. She's the sun, the moon, the world rotating. All her son knows is that he loves it when she sticks her tongue out and clicks it against the roof of her mouth, and that as soon as he squirms in the safe cocoon of his fuzzy blankets that she'll be there.

All of the fears, of being more occupied with work, of not being selfless, of not being ready were for nothing. And she's still hung up on cutting, and she has moments where she has to pass her darling baby off to Sam just to inhale without fingers reaching incessantly for her necklace, and there are nights when rocking, singing, swaying, bouncing, and crying don't help. But the other memories, the squeals of delight during bath time, the babbling conversations while she sips her coffee, the quiet times they spend napping on the couch while the rain drenches the sand, they quell her worries, anxiety, and spin them into nothing more than a faint figment of her imagination.

The there's screeching, the communication of disapproval over being set down to play with toys, when Sam rushes through the door with his suit jacket over his head, water dripping onto her new rug. He hastily grabs the back of her neck, quickly pecking her lips before he drops his suitcase and situates himself in front of the new baby who has taken their world by storm.

Addison hangs back, grinning behind the edge of her warm cup of tea. Life will not be without its struggles, but she never thought it'd all boil down to this- her best friend, her baby, and the rain.

It seems too simple to be the answer, she never saw it coming.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**


	4. 10:45 Amsterdam Conversations

Pete/Violet - "the unexpected"

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~  
10:45 Amsterdam Conversations  
- Funeral For A Friend  
~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Pete stares down at his wife with disbelief. "You're sure?" he asks again, the third time, and she looks as annoyed as he feels. They're pushing, they're straining, and things have been hectic lately. And this is so not the time.

"Why don't you ask me if I think it's yours?" Violet snarks back immediately, curling a fist around the paperwork Addison gave her earlier in the afternoon. When he doesn't respond quickly enough, she storms to the kitchen, whipping out the jar of peanut butter and slamming the cabinet door shut.

"It's- Violet, that-" Pete stalls, watching her furiously rifle through the refrigerator for what he is assuming would be the strawberry jam but it is missing because she can't seem to remember that she polished it off on Thursday. "You're freaking out."

"You're freaking out!" Violet accuses, her finger finding the air.

"Well, yeah."

"Why are we freaking out? We've done this before, our kid is sleeping down the hall."

"Because," Pete carefully reminds her with one word. Because, last time it didn't go well. Last time was a catastrophe, and he's not exactly looking for a do-over when they're dangling from fragile strings as it is.

"I'm fine," Violet refutes. "It's good, this is good. Children should have siblings. I always wished I had one to share the craziness of my mother with, you have Adam-"

"Not a great example," Pete declines.

"This is gonna be good," Violet declares, mouth full of dry bread and a generous heaping of sticky peanut butter. "I'm exhausted already, that won't matter, and Lucas will be in school by the time the baby comes, so that's free babysitting, and we have the nanny. Good, it's all good."

She's nodding so much, chewing so little, that Pete thinks she may choke. When she finishes, water glass drained next to the sink, he feels her edge under his shoulder to that one specific spot. He places a rough kiss atop her mangled hair and sighs.

"I'm not going to be crazy this time," Violet says softly, more for her own benefit, not that anyone would blame her if she decided to go that route.

"No," Pete whispers, agreeing even when every fiber of his being is protesting this unwelcome, unwanted, and unexpected ambush.

"I'm freaked out," Violet confides minutes later, the clock in the kitchen ticking down.

"Me too."


	5. Daylight Robbery

Sam/Naomi, Sam/Addison - "the unexpected"

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~  
Daylight Robbery  
- Imogen Heap  
~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

He hadn't planned on kissing Naomi in the elevator, he hadn't even really intended on seeing her today. She had become such a shadow of what she used to mean. Running away from her practice, her child, and then her grandchild all in the name of work. And there's been this anger building, bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

He didn't give a damn that she was upset about Addison, he was following his heart, doing for himself as she was for herself. He was dating, and operating, and leading his own life- one he picked.

But she was always there, under the surface.

He could hear her voice in the back of head telling him to be afraid, be weary, be diligent.

She was in the middle of some tirade about Dink, her newest victim, one he already deemed unfit twice, when he pushed her against the metal railing and made her shut up. And he knows, the baby talks with Addison, the guilt over being tied up in the OR while Olivia is growing strong and loud, and the backfiring of Naomi's grand merger are all wearing on him. It's compiling and grating on his nerves.

All he wants is silence.

Instead fireworks erupt when they finish, Amelia an unreliable witness to his last ditch effort at sanity.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**


	6. The Great War

Sam/Addison - "the unexpected"

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~  
The Great War  
- Mid Atlantic  
~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"Did I do something?" Sam asks, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin as they feast on Chinese food out by the noisy ocean. She's touched almost nothing, said even less, and has been stand-offish since before bed last night. She jumped out of a kiss after lunch, excused herself during their morning meeting, and spent most of the day in and out of ORs.

"No," Addison replies with a weak smile. He's been annoyingly perfect, patient, there.

"Did I forget something?" Sam asks, calculating dates in his head. He never thought her to be one of those women who celebrated silly things like the first time they ever kissed, but he's been wrong before.

"No, Sam, it's fine," Addison shrugs, pouring another glass of wine. Her third. And God willing, she'll drink the whole bottle by herself, if she can do it undetected.

"Talk to me, Addison, come on," he pries, his chopsticks falling rakishly into a pile of chilled noodles. "Did you lose a patient?"

"I did four c-sections. Three boys, two girls, all as healthy as can be expected," Addison replies softly. Her heart just isn't in it, but she can't say it out loud yet either. It's so surreal, the conversation, the aching moments that followed the dial tone. It's almost as if it never happened, but it did, she knows, because it hurts when she swallows, when she breathes, when she blinks.

And the worst is, she wants Naomi, not Sam. Because the situation calls for her best friend, not her boyfriend (however rapidly he may be filling the void). But she has her pride, and crawling to Naomi's doorstep drenched in tears seems like a below the belt shot. She avoided her office all day, stayed cooped up at St. Ambrose to avoid the temptation, to strengthen her resolve.

"I can't help you unless you tell me what is going on," Sam tells her, wishing for once it would come easy, because seeing her in this kind of pain isn't a great way to spend the night, and it makes him want to hug her until she can't inhale.

"Nothing is going on," Addison refutes. There are probably a million things going on, but not on this side of the United States. There's nothing here, no remnants, no memories flooding her mind.

She watches him clear their plates, her's laden with food, rinse the glasses slowly. He's buying time, she doesn't blame him.

"You should stay at your house tonight," Addison tells him, sneaking into the kitchen with glass of wine number four.

"What did I do?" Sam yells a little too loudly, as she retreats up the stairs alone. He loads the dishwasher, refills Milo's water, and then takes to the banister determined.

"Addison," Sam starts, breezing through the previously shut door. "I'm sorry, whatever I did or didn't do- I'm sorry-" He stops when he sees her lump, completely under the covers of the bed, no clothes discarded on the floor. There's a delicate shaking, a sound he wishes he didn't recognize, and he peels back the comforter.

A ball seemed like the most comforting thing at the time, pulling her knees to her chest, it was all she could do to hold it in until the sanctuary of her own space. And then, fist in mouth she let herself go. All air sucking, lung burning, clinched eyelids, sticky hot tears. Sobbing, like a ridiculous child. And of course Sam wouldn't leave her like she asked, not after being so aloof all day. She should've known.

She can feel him form his body around hers, hear him grunt trying to get the sheets back up over both their heads, his breath a welcome breeze on the back of her neck as she fights for composure. She wants Naomi, because Naomi wouldn't pretend it was all okay, and she wouldn't try and stop her from drinking too much and eating too little. She would just know what to do and say, and Addison longs for that understanding, fears she's forever jeopardized it.

"Addison," she can hear him repeating over and over, distantly, as if he's ten feet behind her.

Her hands are locked under the weight of his tight hold, feet tangled around his calves, and she feels like she's suffocating. She wants him off, she wants to wallow incoherently, she wants to cry herself to sleep but he's hellbent on pacifying her.

She gives, crumples in a fashion entirely disgraceful, and whispers, "Archer's dead." again and again until he relinquishes his grip and allows her to mourn in the only way she knows how- alone.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**


	7. Settling Scores By Burning Bridges

Sam/Addison - "the unexpected"

A/N: I'm looking forward to their ending almost more than their beginning. Tomorrow something more on the fluffier end of the spectrum. (And just for clarity's sake, these little chapters have nothing to do with one another, unless you want them to in your head) :) Enjoy-

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~  
Settling Scores By Burning Bridges  
- Maylene & The Sons of Disaster  
~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Addison found it to be a rather plain week in the grand scheme of their relationship. On Monday they shared drinks at the local watering hole with a few of their colleagues, hands untangled at the behest of Naomi. Tuesday, Sam had a late surgery and Addison spent her night with Milo, a few flimsy boxes of Chinese food and a documentary that she's already forgotten. Wednesday was used to hash out work, what they could reasonably afford for bonuses in the wake of the merger and mounting employees, and they only agreement they arrived at was that despite the conjoined name they still felt like they were very different practices. On Thursday, Amelia drug both of their "boring, hot asses" out for a spicy dinner and mediocre salsa dancing at her new favorite dive. And Friday lent itself to their perfect version of staying in- lazy feet draped over laps, respective books, light kisses, and warm blankets.

She spent Saturday morning researching at her desk, Sam out for a run on the beach shirtless. She had wished to join him, but had far too many things to catch up on and promised to meet him for lunch which consisted of wilted lettuce, warm water, and bland dressing in the hospital cafeteria after Sam had been called in for a consult from Pete who was on an ER rotation (proving to be a great resource for the floundering "Oceanside Wellcare").

He's under her now, late Sunday afternoon, bearing the scrutiny of her confusion, literally pinned to the thin mattress of the lounge chair out on her deck. And she thinks it fitting, that it end here, where it began (for it to collapse where she once felt so safe). But it was such an unremarkable week of fantastic, hot sex, and mutually agreeable cases that she's caught extremely off-guard.

And she thinks, for a split second when a wave crashes loudly, that maybe this is his out- to the children she needs, the marriage she desires, the things he says he wants but she has the sneaking suspicion is all a lie. He kisses her cheek like a friend, wiping the wetness that has unwilling gathered there while she waits with her mouth open.

It's such a blow, she has no words. She was gutted in her sleep, when she wasn't expecting it, when she couldn't see their fault line anymore. Because three months ago this would have made absolute sense. After battling with Naomi, work, Charlotte- she saw it coming then. She was standoffish, afraid, tender, and he was strong and willing.

But now, in the midst of nothing, he's done. She never saw the train before it hit, never noticed him tying her down to the tracks. In the serenity of sandcastles and empty beaches he has no explanation, leaving her without a trail to analyze, without so much as a clue to their dysfunctional implosion.

"But I love you," Addison says softly, anger seeping into her confounded state, hesitant to move off of him and out of his way before she can come up with a plan of attack, a way to be better, a way to combat this tearing, aching cruelty.

"I love you too," he replies. Honestly, she hopes.

It makes her want to scream, to rip at her own hair, but answers seem to be lacking as where the questions just keep mounting. When the sun falls behind the crest of the bubbling ocean, he staggers away without apology to his own residence.

And while she waits for the stars to come release the chilling hands that have managed to wrap around her convulsing throat, she remembers, this is not the first time love has accidentally failed her.


	8. Some Rooms Become Us

Charlotte - "intimacy"

A/N: The city I am in has been dusted with about four inches of snow and tons more is expected. Perfect writing weather, enjoy-

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~  
Some Rooms Become Us  
- Panoptique Electrical  
~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

There seems to be no beginning. It's there before she awakens, recklessly thrashing through her dreams, holding her hands down as she relives every wretched second of the one night she'd pay greatly to forget ever happened.

It's put a damper on the way she lives- the way she dresses each morning, the way Cooper clings to her hand in the car when they share a ride, the way she is addressed in meetings, the way people breathe around her. As though she may have a complete emotional breakdown at any moment. They should be so lucky, she thinks, to be able to witness that catastrophe. And she knows, through her dealings with coworkers, ex-friends, and lovers that there are some people in the world that would enjoy nothing more than to see her in this trauma- to scrutinize her pain and tell her somehow (though never aloud) that she sort of deserves this.

She's sure they'd get a good chuckle while feigning distress that something so monumental could have happened to someone they know. They'd make it about themselves without realizing that her heart seizes every time she hears a door click, every time she hears an unfamiliar voice. If they knew- if they knew how much of a struggle it is not to jump off the couch when Cooper swaggers through a room (to know the heartache of not wanting to hide in his embrace), if they knew how her teeth are constant ground together in anxiety, if they knew how much of an effort it is to stay still when her skin is crawling, well then she suspects that they may ease up a bit.

But that isn't what she wants, nor what she needs. She needs to get back to a place where doors are something she slams in people's faces, where her office is a place of work, where her throat doesn't ache when her eyes pop open each morning. She needs them to become unconsumed so she can follow suit. Because it's much too much to be carrying the load alone, to shoulder the burden of fixing everyone in the damn practice.

But as the days linger into weeks, and weeks into months there appears to be no clear starting line of healing; no end in sight.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**


	9. Our Door Handles Stopped Moving Years

Kevin/Addison - "intimacy"

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~  
Our Door Handles Stopped Moving Years Ago  
- Youth Pictures of Florence Henderson  
~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"Where'd you go to school?" Kevin asks, plopping down a container of egg rolls on the coffee table and making himself comfortable on Addison's couch.

"Yale," Addison answers quickly, mouth inappropriately half-full. "Well, Columbia and Yale."

"No, I meant high school. Some private school?" Kevin rephrases, watching her swallow.

"That was a long time ago," Addison says with a frown. All he can talk about lately is the money, edging its way into conversations about absolutely nothing. So far he's figured out where she lived in New York because she mentioned how she used to love skipping out into Central Park when it was freshly blanketed with snow, and that she's not simply a doctor who delivers babies, but one of a very small group of people who can deliver the results that are classically identified as miracles. It's all incredibly uncomfortable, being under inspection, and she doesn't miss this from her childhood.

"Yeah, but, you don't forget. I went to a public school, played basketball, football one year, straight B student, and had a very fun prom night."

"I hated prom," Addison sighs, dropping her chopstick in a white, cardboard container. "Look Kevin, just- it is whatever you think it was. Private school, big white house, maids, nannies, vacations in foreign countries. But that's not- me, it's...I'm not that person anymore. I don't think I ever was."

"First job?" Kevin quizzes. He worked at the gas station down the block from his father's apartment the summer her turned 15.

"I'm not doing this anymore," Addison declares, scooping up her leftovers and heading for the kitchen. She refills her glass of wine, buying time before she has to return and explain her first job was her career, unless helping grade her father's classes' lab assignments when she was 12 really counts. It takes three full minutes before he comes in, wraps his arms around her waist, and huffs into her neck. "I don't want to talk about it," Addison admits.

"Addison-"

"You know who watched me graduate high school, college, and med school? Archer. I don't want to talk about it anymore. It wasn't glamorous and fun, ok?"

"Ok," Kevin agrees, cinching his hands around her tighter. "I'm sorry."

"Prove it," Addison whispers, pulling back and reaching for the top button on his shirt.

And before he can think to probe deeper, apologize more for upsetting her, or anything else, she has herself up on a counter, bare feet pressing into the back of his thighs. It's not exactly the result he was looking for, but ever since that night, that stupid party, nothing has been satisfying.

Nothing has relieved the pressure of trying to live up to her past; nothing she can do eases the discomfort of knowing they aren't evenly matched.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**


	10. Oh My Stars

Sam/Addison - "intimacy"

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~  
Oh My Stars  
- Andrew Belle  
~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"Slow down," Sam whispers, grasping her hands tightly in his and licking his way down her stomach, taking his sweet time. He can feel her hips trying to grind up against him, and he'll get there eventually. They have all weekend for tasting, sucking, and exploring skin he's seen a thousand times already but never properly savored.

The sheets are already covered with a thin layer of perspiration, from their previous endeavor, where he let her lead the way into an explosion of fury and frantic murmurs of "harder" and "faster". And that was fun, more than fun, and enjoyable, but this is his journey- to show her exactly what he's feeling with every inch of his body.

And it sounds so silly, seven months into this, but he hasn't had many nights of slow, long, and loving rounds of sex. One of them will get paged, or someone has to be up early for a surgery, or to check on Maya, or Amelia is down the hall. It's always something that prevents him from spending the night wrapped in the sheets above and below her.

But now, a few hundred miles away from home and the beach, in the heart of wine country, he has no pager, no bothersome roommates, and no responsibilities to hold him back from sliding his tongue over her clit and denying her when she reaches out to show him where she wants his hand to press.

He's got chilled champagne, a roasting fireplace, those damn rose petals coating the floor, and if Sam in the earlier years would have seen this he may have said he was trying just a touch too hard, but the Sam that's with Addison wants to try everything. He wants the cheesy jacuzzi tub in the living room and the hotel that expects them to spend the entire weekend holed up in the room so they've prepared an excellent selection for their room service.

He wants to know exactly what her toes look like when they curl, if she prefers the top or bottom, if she likes props, toys, and role plays or if she just prefers his talented fingers and dedicated tongue. He wants to wake her up in the middle of the night with a proposition she can't refuse even if they aren't 29 anymore, and actually do enjoy their sleeping hours.

He wants to hold her under the stars and pretend like they still believe in wishes; like they don't depend on second, third, and fourth chances no matter their beginnings.


	11. Dime and Suture

Pete, Addison - "intimacy"

A/N: A hint spoilerish, kind of.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~  
Dime and Suture  
- Gifts From Enola  
~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

He finds her with coffee wrapped between her gloved hands, coat buttoned as high as it will go on her neck, and cheeks rosy in the California winter air. They haven't done this much at all lately, he realizes, as his legs hit the bench behind him and he is inclined to sit, suggesting she do the same.

He'd ask how she's doing, but from the quiet that surrounds her, and has been for weeks, he knows better than to inquire. Addison isn't fine, and hasn't been for a while now. "I'm a lousy husband," Pete begins with a shrug, sipping at his own bitter tea, a seasonal virus attacking his immune system, nose as stuffed as they come. "I'm just no good and Violet is there, trying."

"Pete," Addison sighs, patting him on the arm. She has no words of assistance, no background for this conversation. She was a bad wife, a worse girlfriend, and a outright horrible friend. It's a wonder he's still talking to her.

"Your turn," Pete announces, not willing to take it any further.

"My mother- I- can't," she exhales slowly and decides to take another route. "Sam doesn't want kids, I don't think, Sam," she tells him exasperated by her findings.

"And you do," Pete assumes, finding it not at all awkward to speak of him seeing as most of their mutual relationship was centered on other people. He's missed this over the months, her companionship and sturdy guidance even when her own world is shaking.

"I really do," Addison mourns. "I just have a feeling...I feel like there's this piece missing."

"Kids are...a lot of work," Pete tosses in for good measure, in case she needs to be reeled in from this crazy fantasy.

"I'm supposed to be someone's mother Pete."

"Yes," he agrees, remembering her with Lucas. When her head falls on his shoulder he doesn't shrug it off, instead he loops an arm around the back of the bench, around her bundled shoulders.

"You're a good husband," Addison mumbles trying to curb his nerves.

"You'll be a great mother Addison," Pete tells her encouragingly. "With or without him."

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**


	12. Broken Open

Sam/Addison - "hurts/stay"

A/N: For a prompt I took. Seems to fit best with the rest of these. Enjoy-

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~  
- Broken Open  
Cold War Kids  
~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Sam's learned a lifetime of tricks when it comes to Addison. He knows how she takes her coffee, when she'd prefer tea, what to do when she can't sleep, and to let her simmer when she asks for time lest her temper get the best of the entire situation. He's great with picking dinner plans, with pushing when she's stubborn, with gently treading over areas where the ice has been fractured by her previous endeavors.

But something he's never grown accustomed to is a quiet Addison. And he can only say "talk to me" a hundred or so times before he himself gets weary of hearing it. He hates when she gets wrapped up in her mind, forgets she has a mouth, and keeps looking at him with those eyes that tell him exactly how much pain she is really in.

In truth, he's never been great with the silent treatment, whatever its reasoning. He loathed it when his friends got mad at him and decided to play with someone else for the weekend, and he never appreciated Naomi's particular brand of dealing with their arguments. And he knows that this time, this evening shrouded in eery absence, can't possibly be his fault.

It gives way to a bravery he wasn't sure he possessed when he spotted the empty wine bottle, surely red, on the living room floor. It cloaks him when he unwinds her from the ball she's curled into, it shields him when she pushes away to go find a hot bath.

"Come on Addison, whatever it is...it can't be that bad."

The glare he gets in response lets him know just how wrong he is, at least in her opinion.

"Archer," she mumbles and then decides better of it, and busies herself with a pale green toothbrush.

"Archer," Sam moans, rolling his eyes. God, her family. They're bossy, and nosy, and annoying, and they always send Addison into a crazy tailspin that he doesn't understand.

"Never mind," Addison says in between rinses, fakes a smile, and then saunters back toward bed when it becomes apparent that he isn't leaving her. "It's nothing, I'm just...tired. They're exhausting."

While they are exhausting, Sam concedes, that isn't the whole story here. She's so obvious, pulling back the covers, slipping onto the cold sheets. It's frustrating, watching her turn away, flick off the light, pretending as though whatever it is won't eat her alive all night, forcing him into a fit of tossing and turning to compensate with her restlessness.

And the one thing he's learned with her family is that if it sounds like a nightmare, it's probably a tragedy. And he's had enough. There's been enough of them for this year, possibly for this lifetime. "If you're not ready, to talk, that's fine," Sam whispers, peeling off his shoes and punching his too fluffy pillow. "But I'm going to find out eventually, and if you tell me now, I can help you feel better."

She seems defiant, at first, as if to prove him incorrect. But then, just as his eyelids begin to feel heavy, he can feel her shift closer, smell the light scent of her hair coming to rest on his chest.

"Archer said...he said I'd be a horrible mother," she relents, gripping Sam tighter. And maybe it's dumb, but she's always been especially susceptible to scrutiny.

He sighs before he can stop himself. Again with the nonexistent babies. Again with the future. Again with Archer. He doesn't want to fill her with hope, he doesn't want to leave her devoid of comfort, so he searches frantically for a middle-ground. "For someone who probably has several children he's never heard of that's a leap."

"Yeah," Addison agrees, not quite satisfied, but pacified.

Sam gulps the knot down in his throat and for a brief moment he finds the heart, finds the footing to give more than ever before, a sign he's not ready to acknowledge and one they hopefully won't have to discuss in the morning. "You'll be a great mother."

A pause, and then relief punctures her lungs. "Thank you, Sam."

"Archer's an...ass and he's hurting, but that doesn't mean he's right. It doesn't mean you should stay up all night thinking about the implications of something no one can possibly judge. Ok?" He's wound up now, he's the one with blood flowing through his veins.

"Ok," Addison agrees with a yawn, and then coils her body around his, not willing to flip over and lose the warmth of his skin, not tonight.

"Night," Sam whispers, fingers finding her hair, brushing, trying to ease his own mind.

He's sprung open a can of worms, leaving them free to inch through her sweet dreams, through his vivid fears. As her breaths deepen, lengthen, Sam ponders the reality that could have been- leaving her to stew in silence.

At four in the morning, after staring at the bumpy ceiling until it became jiggly static, he realizes he'd rather know than be in the dark, whatever the cost.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**


End file.
